


Stay

by Saber_Wing



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers Family, Chronic Pain, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Idiots in Love, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Romance, Sick Character, Sick Tony, Sick Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Superhusbands (Marvel), Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Touch-Starved, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: Tony was a hot mess when he was sick. Prickly, on the surface. But if you could work your way past that – which Steve had managed long ago – he was clingy, whiny. Needy. Essentially, everything he’d grown up believing a Stark shouldn’t be.It's Sunday morning, and Tony just wants a warm bed, and Steve. He gets a board meeting, and a crazy high fever instead.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 44
Kudos: 708





	Stay

Tony didn’t want to get out of bed today.

That happened a lot. He’d spend one too many nights in the workshop, then sleep all day to make up for it. Set ten alarms and snooze every one of them. But he always did the best he could to take care of business. Go to every board meeting, conference, and charity gala Pepper asked him to—within reason, of course. Which, to her credit, wasn’t that often anymore. She tried not to pile quite so much onto him when she knew Tony was working on too many projects to handle, and that was _all_ the time these days.

Despite how much of a morning person Tony wasn’t, however, most of his reluctance was trite, and relatively easy to overcome. Nothing that ten _extra_ alarms, or Steve pulling all the covers away and physically shoving him off the bed wouldn’t fix.

But sometimes, it was _hard_.

Sometimes, Tony would wake with icy claws gripping his chest, and couldn’t remember how to breathe. He’d panic. Take a breath that his diminished lung capacity couldn’t handle. Then the giant chunk of metal wedged in his sternum would protest, and he’d remember why.

Today was one of those days. And he knew this cold he couldn’t shake had everything to do with it.

A tickle at the back of his throat forced him to cough, and Tony winced, gripping his chest, as if that would stop it from hurting.

The giant metal monstrosity in the center of his ribcage never made sickness fun, but he could handle it. In small doses. A week of coughing, that was fine. Two weeks? No problem. But two weeks became three, became four, until one day, he woke up, and he couldn’t take a deep breath at all without grimacing. This...whatever it was, had settled in his lungs now. He could feel the congestion weighing them down. His head, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

He wanted Steve. On a visceral level.

His boyfriend had been off on a mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. for a couple of weeks, and Tony missed him desperately. The super-soldier always knew how to make him feel safe, when his walls broke down.

Tony was a hot mess when he was sick. Prickly, on the surface. But if you could work your way past that – which Steve had managed long ago – he was clingy, whiny. _Needy._ Essentially, everything he’d grown up believing a Stark shouldn’t be.

 _Stark men are made of iron._ Fuck Howard, and the sorry sack who taught him that stupid phrase. Tony just wanted to be held. Was that so much to ask? He _could_ handle a lingering cough without Steve there to hold his fucking hand, but that didn’t mean he should _have_ to. He didn’t _want_ to. He wanted _Steve._

He forced down a whine, sitting up in bed. The covers pooled around his waist, and immediately, Tony wanted to sink back into them. His chest felt heavy, the skin around it raw, where it chafed against the arc reactor every time he had to cough.

His phone rang from the bedside table, tearing him from his thoughts, and he fumbled for it one-handed, collapsing face down into the pillows again. Just five more minutes.

Tony glanced at the caller ID and grinned.

Maybe ten.

“Hey, stranger.”

 _“Hey.”_ Steve’s soft baritone filtered through the receiver. _“Are you up?”_

“I could be,” Tony purred. “How much time you got?”

Steve’s laughter on the other end was almost enough to get him out of bed by itself. _“Not enough, but get out of bed and get dressed, and we’ll talk about it later.”_

“Who says I’m _not?”_ Tony scoffed, mock offended. “I could be awake. I could be in my office right now. You don’t know.”

Steve huffed. _“Baby, it’s Sunday.”_

“Uh...yeah? And?”

_“The last time I tried to get you out of bed before noon on a Sunday, you had J.A.R.V.I.S. mobilize one of your suits, and threatened to divorce me. And we’re not even married.”_

Tony rolled onto his back; phone clutched to his ear. “You don’t _know_ me, Steve. I am not that predictable. People can change. I am an enigma. I am energized and motivated!”

_“You have that board of director’s meeting today. You know how important it is to Pepper.”_

Tony whined, dropping the pretense. “Yeah, yeah. I’m up. I’m up!” He pouted, letting his arm flop onto the sheets. “Spoil sport.”

Steve chuckled. _“Quit sulking, you’ll be fine.”_

“I am not _sulking,_ Steven. You are losing your touch.”

 _“Is that so?”_ Steve’s tone was smug, and Tony wanted to kiss his stupid face.

“It _is_ so! You’re not the boss of me. You don’t know my life. You-" He broke off when the back of his throat tickled, bracing himself, hand clutching his chest as he hacked miserably into the bed covers. God, it _hurt._ He was gonna crack a rib, or something. "Ugh. Fuck."

All joking was gone from Steve’s voice when he spoke again. He sounded anxious now, words edged with concern. _“You’ve still got that cold?”_

“Unfortunately.” Tony broke off again, muffling another one into his pillow. “And don’t look at me in that tone of voice, young man. I’m handling it.”

Steve sighed. Tony could see him in his mind’s eye, threading his fingers through his hair. _“Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay? I don’t want a repeat of last year.”_

Oh, right. Last year, when Tony hadn’t taken a chest cold seriously, and ended up collapsing in the middle of a press conference. Real media shit storm. The story hit the web so quick, Steve found out about it on _Twitter._ Poor bastard had been frantic.

Tony didn’t want to relive that humiliation any more than Steve wanted to see it, and he wasn’t _going_ to. Sure, he felt like shit, but it wasn’t emergency room level. He’d be fine.

“Yes, dear. I’ll be good. Something, something, responsible something.”

Steve was glaring now; he could _hear_ it. _“Tony, so help me God...”_

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m _taking_ this seriously. I promise. Look how serious I am. I have _cough_ drops, Steve! Which I bought!”

Steve snorted. _“Yeah?”_

“Okay, Pepper bought them. But I _asked_ her to.”

 _“God, I love you.”_ The warmth in Steve’s voice washed over Tony. _“You know that, right?”_

Tony missed him _so_ much. He was horrified to feel his eyes burn. Jesus, he was not going to cry. He didn’t need to _cry_ about this. “How could I forget?”

Steve’s reply was gentle. Knowing. _“I’ll be home soon_. _Then, if you’re still sick, you can stay in bed, and I’ll spoon feed you soup all day.”_

Tony’s chuckle was a little unsteady. “I’ll hold you to that, Rogers.”

 _“Don’t overdo it, okay?”_ Steve hesitated. His reluctance was tangible. _“...if you really feel like you can’t-"_

“No, it’s fine.” He was Tony fucking Stark, of course he _could._ “It’s just the board of directors. I can handle them in my sleep.”

_“...okay. I gotta go. We’re going dark for a couple of days, but I’ll call when I can. I love you.”_

“Love you too.” Tony tried his hardest not to sound as sad and pathetic as he felt. He was positive he failed spectacularly. “Bye.”

After Steve hung up, Tony threw his phone back on the table, burying his face in the pillow with a frustrated groan. _God,_ he hated being sick. It always left him unbalanced, and emotional. Tony just wanted to be held until his chest stopped hurting, his lungs quit rattling, and this stupid cough went away, but Steve wasn’t here. So, post-board meeting cuddling wasn’t even in the cards, and somehow, that thought just made everything worse. 

_Ugh,_ he thought, lurching out of bed with the sheets tangled around his ankles. What kind of sadist scheduled board meetings on a _Sunday?_ Did they hate him that much? Did _Pepper_ hate him that much, to make him attend in the first place?

Tony stumbled through his morning routine mechanically, dry swallowing a few fever reducers before pep-talking himself into dragging a suit out of the closet. He threw it on, neatened up his hair, and staggering out the door, glancing back at the bed longingly over his shoulder.

_Wait for me, darling. We’ll be together soon._

Tony was feeling awful enough not to want to drive, so he called Happy, mumbled his way through a request to stop at Starbucks, then buried his face in his coffee, sipping blearily at it until they pulled up at SI.

The meeting itself was dull, mostly involving a bunch of old farts nagging at him about stock points and financing. Tony kept up with the topics as best he could, mostly to avoid the mildly worried looks Pepper shot him, every time he tried to muffle a cough in his sleeve or reached up to rub his chest when no one else was looking. He spoke when he had to, acknowledging whatever points he needed to move the discussion forward.

After what felt like a lifetime, but was probably only an hour or two, the meeting finally ended. And thank _God_ for that. Tony was, grudgingly, beginning to think his earlier synopsis might have been wrong. Breathing normally was taking all his concentration now. His chest felt tight, and he was popping those awful cough drops like candy, even though they didn’t help much.

His throat was raw. He felt light-headed, and the slight fever he’d woken up with had probably gotten worse, because he was trembling, simultaneously too hot and too cold. Sweat had broken out on his brow. Even his hands were shaking minutely.

Home. Bed. Sleep. Hopefully in that order, but at this point, he couldn’t make any promises.

Tony was just standing up to gather his papers into a pile when another coughing fit struck him. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow, bracing his palm on the tabletop when his knees started to buckle.

A pair of small hands – Pepper’s hands – grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to sit down. He happily obliged, collapsing gracelessly into a chair. After what had to have been a good thirty seconds, he was finally able to catch his breath, accepting the glass of water Pepper thrust into his hand. He sipped it gingerly, wincing as he rubbed his sternum. There was a dark, wet spot in the crook of his elbow, on his suit jacket. Phlegm. Tinged with...red?

Well, that wasn't good.

Pepper cupped his cheek, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. Tony leaned into her touch - craving it in a horrible, humiliating way – and blinked blearily up at her, drained. He _really_ didn’t feel well. And right then, he didn’t care how pitiful he looked. He wanted bed. He wanted Steve.

Tony wasn’t aware he’d said anything out loud, but he must have, because Pepper brushed a stray hair back into place, speaking to him in a gentle voice that made his eyes burn. “I know, honey. Let’s get you home. Get you to bed, okay?”

Tony nodded mutely, clutching at the arc reactor. Blinking back tears. Another fit of coughs wracked his frame, raspy and harsh.

Black spots danced across his vision. That was also not good. And this was _not_ happening. Tony was not going to collapse at SI over a chest cold, or...whatever the hell this was. He just needed to get home. He _wanted_ to go home. God, Tony would give anything to be able to take a full breath right now.

There was a sharp, stabbing pain shooting up from his sternum. An increasing lightheadedness, forcing him to lean on Pepper to remain upright.

 _Focus._ He'd get home. Call Bruce. Bruce would know what to do.

Eventually, Tony was able to stand under his own power, and the two of them made their way to the elevator together, Tony leaning heavily on Pepper's arm. Rhodey ended up meeting them halfway to the car. Somebody must have called him, because he wasn't supposed to be here yet. Tony was vaguely aware of lunch plans he’d made with him the day before.

Tony felt a sudden, ridiculous stab of guilt. They weren't going to lunch _now._ He was a little alarmed by how fast this whole thing had gone south. If he'd thought attending one stupid meeting would tax him so much, Tony would have just stayed in bed, like a good little invalid.

Tony didn’t remember falling asleep. He didn't even remember getting in the car, never mind arriving back home, but he was startling awake before he knew it, cheek pressed against Rhodey’s shoulder. He burrowed into his side.

“Rhodey-bear?” Tony mumbled, sounding pitiful, raspy, and _sick._ “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not _dying,_ Tones.” He petted Tony’s hair.

“Quick, somebody pull up the will. I’m rounding the bend. There’s a light at the end of the...” Rudely, another coughing fit interrupted Tony’s tirade, which sort of took the sarcastic edge off the whole thing. The little pained groan he couldn’t quite stifle probably didn’t help, either. “...tunnel.”

Rhodey smiled indulgently, though his eyes looked tight. “You’re still an asshole. You must not be too bad off.” But something about those words felt heavy. Foreboding.

Maybe it was hearing someone voice it. Or Tony's subconscious, looking for a way to be contrary, like it always was. But suddenly Tony knew, with frightening certainty, that he _was_ bad off.

The vise around his lungs squeezed tighter.

This was not good.

At all.

Everything got hazy after that. He remembered being guided from the car. Making it to the elevator, but not walking out of it. He remembered feeling weightless in somebody's arms. Rhodey's aftershave, cutting through the congestion; Tony always did tease him about _bathing_ in the stuff. He remembered soft touches. Warm words. Vaguely, he was aware of the other Avengers drifting around his room, like a revolving door of caretakers. Bruce. Natasha. Clint. Rhodey. Pepper. Sam. And everything hurt, but this wasn't the first time. Tony was always in pain -- just a little bit. He could bear _a lot_ more.

Until he couldn’t.

He lost time after that. In long, frightening spurts.

Tony’s head throbbed. His lungs burned. Someone thrusted a trash can under his mouth, when the puking started. Abruptly, and at random intervals, he was quite unsure of how he got here. How he got so bad. And no matter how many people Tony saw, they were never Steve.

Why wasn’t Steve here? Was he mad at him?

No. That wasn’t right. Tony frowned. Pursed his lips.

The answer was there, on the tip of his tongue. His brain wasn't working right, it was true. But Tony knew Steve was busy. He knew he was...was...

...not here.

Why wasn’t Steve here?

Tony's lip quivered.

He asked the others repeatedly. Tony thought they answered each time, faces getting tighter and tighter as the hours passed. And that was fair, because he knew he was forgetting things. They’d probably answered that question a lot of times before.

Tony was aware of movement. Dizzying colors and sounds. And his surroundings seemed to change the next time he blinked. He wasn’t in _his_ room anymore, but a different room. With bright lights and sterile walls. There were more people with him now. People in scrubs and lab coats, and one of them, Tony knew. A woman, with kind eyes and a gentle smile. She brushed his hair back and called him Tony in a soft, familiar voice, and Bruce said her name was Helen. Tony knew Helen.

She was _that_ kind of doctor.

Bruce said she could help him. And she gave Tony stuff that made him feel a little better and made his ribs ache less. She scolded him when he tried to pull the tubes out of his nose, and that was less fun. But they’d help him breathe, she said, so Tony left them alone after that.

He would really like to be able to breathe.

They touched his reactor. Tony didn’t like that at all. It took a lot of coaxing, and maybe a few tears, but eventually, they calmed him down. They explained to Tony that it was hurting him, and they just wanted to help. And they even let him wrap it himself, since where the casing met his skin was chafed and bleeding. They just wanted him to feel better. They weren’t gonna take it from him. They’d take care of him, they promised.

They were his friends. His family.

Where was Steve? Was he coming soon?

Tony’s family stayed with him. Together, or in smaller groups. And they all seemed strained, which Tony was very sorry for. He _said_ he was sorry a lot. It just made them all look sadder for some reason, but he told them anyway.

Jarvis said you should apologize to people when you hurt them. It was the honest thing to do. 

Time didn’t mean anything. He spent all of it half coherent. Frightened, and hurting. But his absent state-of-mind dulled the pain, and maybe that was for the best.

Once, Tony woke to the sound of gentle sniffling. He didn’t like that one bit. It was bad enough that everyone was sad. He didn’t want people crying for him, too. Though he was pretty sure he caught Pepper, wiping her face with her sleeve when she thought Tony wouldn’t see.

When Tony opened his eyes, it turned out to be Steve, slumped in a chair at his bedside. His eyes were red. His bottom lip stiff, like it always was when he was sad and trying not to show it. But it was Steve.

 _Steve_ was here.

Tony heaved a sob, reaching for him.

When he saw that Tony was awake, Steve was on the bed with him in an instant, cupping his cheeks. Wiping away the tears. He pressed their foreheads together with a gasping breath, kissing him softly. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’m here now, it’s okay.”

God, he was _so sick._ Tony knew that on some level, even if he did have no idea what day it was. But now Steve was here, holding him tight. And that was all Tony ever wanted. All he’d ever need.

Tony’s bottom lip quivered. “Wha...where’d you go? I couldn’t r-rememb’r where you went, and I...”

“I’m sorry.” Steve held him tighter. His arm was shaking around Tony’s waist. “I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry...”

Tony frowned. What was Steve sorry for? _He_ didn’t make him sick.

Steve must have read the question on his face, because he pulled Tony closer, careful not to disturb any hookups or intravenous lines. “I should have been here. Should have listened to my gut and come home to you.”

That was sweet, but Steve was holding himself to an impossible standard. Tony wasn’t the center of the universe. There were other people who needed Captain America. The Avengers, the citizens of the world, S.H.I.E.L.D...

Tony had to share him. Being in this place with white walls – hospital, _hospital,_ holy shit _–_ didn’t change that. But that wasn’t what Steve wanted. It wasn’t what he needed to hear.

They could work on that worrying tendency toward self-flagellation later. For now, Tony snuggled closer. Rested his burning forehead against Steve’s chest.

“Just...don’t leave? Please?”

A bark of laughter – choked, hysterical – exploded from Steve’s lips. He pressed a kiss to Tony’s brow. Curled around him, like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“Darlin’, they’ll have to kill me not to stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I have never used Rhodey in a story. God, I love that guy. And I love sick fic. Why don't I write more sick fic? My teeth are rotting from this one, but I'm not sorry. And I hope you aren't either :D
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you feel like it, please add to my dragon hoard of comments <3


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